


Yes, I Want You (But Not Like This)

by ShippersList



Series: Whumptober 2018 [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demonic Possession, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Possessed Stiles Stilinski, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/pseuds/ShippersList
Summary: They both might have been dreaming about getting together, but not like this. Never like this.Whumptober prompts 25-26.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober prompt 25: Restraints

Peter woke up to an odd, hazy sensation; the kind where his head felt cottony and slow, his mouth tasted like someone died in it, and it felt like he was naked.

Curious. He didn’t recall being drunk the previous night.

He tried sitting up in the bed only to realize he couldn’t. Frowning, he tugged his hands but they didn’t come loose. In fact, both of his hands were very securely tied up with Argent-level restraints which in itself was rather worrying.

Slightly alarmed now, he took in his surroundings as best as he could. He was in an unfamiliar, windowless room that smelled mostly of dust and old wood, a combination that wasn’t very helpful. Majority of the old buildings in Beacon Hills bore the same diluted smell.

”Oh, good. You’re awake,” a low voice purred from the darkness in his right. Something about it tugged at Peter but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. ”I thought you were going to sleep through all the fun.”

A shadow glided from the dark, stopped, and cocked his head.

 _”Stiles?”_ Peter asked, bewildered.

A slow, too wide smile spread on Stiles’s face. ”Stiles isn’t home right now,” he drawled. ”It’s just you and me, Wolf.”

The thing wearing Stiles’s face moved languidly forward and traced a finger across Peter’s bare chest. His nail was long and sharp and Peter hissed when it drew blood. It made Stile— no, the _thing_ grin.

”Did you know he’s been dreaming of a moment like this?” He asked, raising a brow. ”Stiles has had vivid dreams of sharing a bed with you, of both fucking you and letting you fuck him. Or just cuddling.” He tilted his head to the side and frowned. ”Lately, it’s been more of the latter. You’d think a hormone-addled teenage boy would dream more of getting off but he seems to be…fond of you.”

Peter gritted his teeth so hard it hurt and glared at the thing. He couldn’t deny he hadn’t thought of Stiles like that—because he had, Gods, since the moment he’d first seen the boy—but he was only willing to take what Stiles wanted him to have. And this? This definitely wasn’t what Stiles wanted.

”You know, I can give you what you want,” the thing said, watching Peter with knowing eyes.

Peter gave him his best smarmy smiles. ”How nice of you. Right now, I mostly want you gone and Stiles free.”

The thing tutted, pulling Stiles’s face into a sad expression Peter was quite sure he’d never seen before. ”Such hostility. Oh well,” he sighed. ”I guess I’ll have to do everything by myself then.”

Without further ado, he pulled off the sheet covering Peter’s lower body, took an exaggerated, slow look, and let out an appreciative sound.

Peter shivered both because of the cool air hitting his skin and because of the way the thing slithered closer. He tried yanking his restraints once more even though he knew it was futile.

He bit back a hiss when the thing crawled to his lap, clever fingers caressing his skin and trailing along his cock. To his utter shame, he grew achingly hard and wanting under its ministrations, and when it finally straddled him and sank down, Peter nearly lost it.

Even though it felt amazing, it wasn’t sex. Even though Peter came inside Stiles’s body and got to see his expression as he orgasmed, it wasn’t Stiles. And even though this whole interaction was something Peter had dreamt about—repeatedly, _vividly—_ he felt sick to his stomach.

Yes, he’d wanted Stiles for years now, but not like this.

Never like this.

”Wasn’t that nice?” The thing asked with a falsely coy smile and clenched a bit, visibly enjoying how it made Peter squirm.

”Not how I’d describe it,” Peter sneered. ”Rape isn’t really my thing.”

The thing twisted Stiles’s face into mock disappointment and shifted, slightly unbalancing itself. It was all Peter needed. With a roar, he twisted violently, dislocating his shoulder, and hurled the thing off of him. It hit the wall sideways with a sickening sound and slumped into a heap on the floor. Hopefully, the impact had been enough to knock the thing out of Stiles.

Panting, Peter let himself go limp on the bed. His dislocated shoulder burned like hell and he felt like he’d throw up any moment, but his only concern was Stiles.

He truly hoped Stiles was alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober prompt 26: Broken ribs

Stiles woke up with a splitting headache and the distinct feeling that if he inhaled too deeply, he’d die. He pushed himself to sit up properly, barely biting back a cry of pain, and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He’d just…rest there for a moment and catch his breath, okay? No big deal. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with pain like this (or almost like this) before.

He heard a soft noise from up close and he twitched despite himself, instantly regretting it because _Ow,_ moving really wasn’t a good idea right now.

”Stiles?” A soft voice asked.

He jerked his head up, a movement that thanked him with increasing headache and nausea and added a flash of blinding pain through his ribcage. ”Peter?” He asked, incredulous. ”What— where… What the fuck?”

Peter hesitated before answering, ”Where? I don’t know,” he said slowly. ”What?” He paused. ”You were possessed.”

_”What?”_ It came out as a strangled yell. Against his better judgment and everything his battered body told him, Stiles pushed himself to stand up, facing a tied-up, naked Peter Hale as a reward. ”Why are you naked?” He asked, then blinked, frowned, and glanced down. ”Why am I naked?”

Silence.

”Care to elaborate, what the fuck happened to us?” Stiles asked, low and dangerous, even though he knew that against a mature werewolf, he was as good as a sad piece of discount meat.

”Like I said, you were possessed,” Peter said. His tone was carefully emotionless. ”I don’t know where we are. I woke up, tied up and feeling woozy, and soon after, I…confronted the thing possessing you. There was an—,” He paused, uncomfortable. ”—An altercation.”

Stiles gave him a narrowed look, saw how the restraints had chafed his wrists bloody and how his other shoulder was at an odd angle. His chest was covered in light fur and the dark trail that traveled from his navel down was wet.

As Stiles inched closer, he noted that his ribs were definitely broken, his head throbbed, and his ass… well, it felt like after some quality time with his favorite toy? Combined with the way Peter was sprawled on the bed—

”Did we have sex?” He blurted.

Peter closed his eyes in defeat and turned to look the other way, baring his neck in the process. ”No. Sex equals consent. Neither of us consented to it which makes it rape.”

Oh.

”Oh,” Stiles said, feeling sick. ”Um, sorry?” It sounded like a question which, probably not cool.

Something flickered across Peter’s face. ”We’ll live. Now, if you could, would you mind taking the restraints off? I’d like to set my shoulder and then find some clothes before we get the hell out of here.”

”Uh, yeah, sorry,” Stiles said and hurried to his side, trying and not completely succeeding in keeping his eyes on Peter’s face.

Bending down to figure out the restraints hurt like a bitch and because the locks were needlessly complicated, getting them off took Stiles a considerable amount of time.

When he was finally done, he straightened himself and promptly fell over.

 

* * *

 

”Your ribs are broken,” Peter said bluntly when he came back to. This time, Stiles was the one lying on the bed, propped slightly to his better side. It didn’t hurt as much as before but then he realized Peter was draining his pain.

”How—” he managed, then swallowed a couple of times around a dry throat and tried again. ”How did it happen?”

Peter gave him a guilty glance. ”That one is on me,” he said quietly. ”I threw you off and you hit the wall quite hard. Then again, I also believe that knock was what got you rid of your passenger so I’m not going to apologize for it.”

”Um…thanks?”

”You’re welcome,” Peter said.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say so he stewed in the uneasy silence, barely keeping himself still to avoid hurting his ribs any more than possible. ”I’m sorry,” he finally said when he couldn’t take it anymore. ”For raping you.”

”You didn’t rape me,” Peter said flatly.

Suddenly angry, Stiles turned around. The movement took Peter by surprise and his hand slipped, making the pain come back in full force. It took Stiles a moment to get his breathing under control again and clear the tears of pain from his eyes, but when he did, he gave Peter a glare.

”I might’ve been the one taking it up in the ass but it doesn’t mean I didn’t rape you,” he snapped. ”That kind of stupid, toxic masculinity thing is just—”

” _You_ didn’t rape me because _it wasn’t you,”_ Peter said with a raised brow, like Stiles was being purposefully slow. ”And just for the record, I’m versatile.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment before he remembered his mouth was open. He snapped it shut and stared some more. ”Oh,” he managed a moment later. ”Well…that’s…good?”

”Is it?”

”Well…I mean, yeah?”

Stiles blinked a couple of times and gave Peter a quizzical look. He wasn’t sure what conversation they were currently having but there was an undercurrent of something…promising, maybe? Or he had a concussion and this all was just some weird brain trauma trip he was soon going to wake up from.

”Peter—” he started but the werewolf shook his head.

”Get some rest, Stiles. We’ll talk later.”

Stiles was about to retort that he didn’t feel tired but that would’ve been a big, fat lie. In the safe haze of Peter’s pain drain, he let his eyes slip closed.

They’d talk later. Peter could be sure of that.


End file.
